The Gunsmith 386 (9 page)

Clint looked up as Cain was coming back. He hadn't heard him, but sensed him. He stood up.

“What's up? You look like you're in a hurry.”

“I am,” Cain said. “There were six men in the canyon, but now there are five.”

“What happened?”

Cain told him how he'd encountered the lookout as he was relieving himself, and had to kill him to keep him quiet.

“Then we better move before they send somebody to relieve him,” Clint said.

They paused, stared at each other, then decided that the double use of the word “relieve” was not a joke. Nobody laughed.

“Let's move,” Cain said, picking up his rifle.

Clint removed his rifle from his saddle, and followed the big man.

They passed the rock Cain had hidden the dead man behind and Cain pointed.

“He was up there,” he said, pointing up.

“Well, nobody's there now,” Clint said, “which is lucky.”

“The rest are over here,” Cain said.

“Lead the way.”

They both eased up to the edge and looked down into the canyon.

“Five,” Clint said. “Any in the shack?”

“I don't think so,” Cain said. “See? Only six horses.”

“Right.”

As they watched, the five men sitting around the fire broke out a bottle of whiskey.

“We could wait for them to get drunk,” Cain proposed.

“But if they start to send someone to spell the other one as lookout, we'd have to move fast. No, let's just move in and take them as quickly as possible.”

“All right.”

Clint looked around, looked at the six horses.

“Where's Eclipse?”

“What?”

“My horse. Where is he?”

“I don't see him.”

“No, I don't either,” Clint said. “That's why I'm asking.”

“Maybe he's in the shack?”

“Damn it!” Clint swore. “If he's not here . . .”

“Why don't we just ask them?” Cain said.

Clint firmed his jaw, then said, “Yes, why don't we. How good are you with that rifle?”

“I would not be able to hit anyone from here,” Cain said. “Not with my first shot anyway.”

“All right, then,” Clint sad, “let's move in closer.”

They circled around so they could come at the men from behind the shack.

“I want to get a look inside first,” Clint said, “to see if Eclipse is in there.”

“All right.”

They moved to the back wall of the shack. It wasn't built well, and there was space between the slats that made up the wall. Clint peered in, moved, peered in again, then said, “No, he's not in there.” He looked at Cain. “He's not here.”

“And neither are Dunn and Sands, we assume,” Cain said. “So they probably have your horse with them.”

“I hope he's taken a piece out of each of them,” Clint said angrily.

“Should we take these fellas?” Cain asked.

“Yes,” Clint said. “Circle around to that side. Count to ten. Got it?”

“Got it.”

Cain split off from Clint, and they moved around the shack, counting.

 • • • 

Around the fire, Sam Roosevelt said, “Somebody's got to go and spell Clay.”

“Whose turn is it?” Andy Gunner asked. He was a big fellow in his thirties who was dumb as a stump and always the butt of the others' jokes.

“Yours,” Doug Smythe said. He was a bespectacled, sandy-haired man whose benign appearance masked his toughness.

“I don't think so,” Gunner said.

“Yeah, it is,” Bill Wade said with a big smile.

Gunner couldn't argue, because he couldn't remember for sure if it was his turn or not.

As Gunner started to get to his feet, Clint Adams stepped out into the open . . .

 • • • 

“Everybody just take it easy!” Clint called.

They all turned and stared. Gunner was the only one on his feet, and he did what his gut told him to do. He went for his gun.

Clint drew and fired. The bullet hit Gunner in the midsection and folded him up.

Cain fired, too, and despite what he'd told Clint, his first bullet hit Gunner.

The others, realizing they were in a cross fire, reacted badly. They all jumped to their feet, going for their guns.

“Damn it!” Clint swore. As the four men leveled their guns to fire, he doubted he and Cain would be able to keep any of them alive.

He was right.

Afterward, Clint and Cain walked among the bodies.

“All dead,” Cain said.

“I know, damn it.”

“I'll walk the area, see what I can find,” Cain said.

“Yeah, okay.”

Clint was upset that they'd killed six men and hadn't learned anything about Eclipse. He moved among the dead, checking pockets. He found money, but nothing that would tell him where his horse had been taken. He went through their saddlebags with the same result. More money and a couple of letters, but they were personal and not helpful to the situation.

He walked over to Cain, who was looking off into the distance.

“What have you got?” he asked.

“Tracks,” the half-breed said, “leading off that way.”

Clint looked in that direction and saw only canyon walls.

“How many?” he asked.

“Three,” Cain said. “Two saddle mounts”—he looked at Clint—“and your horse. He was in the shack at one time.”

“What the hell is that way?” Clint wondered aloud.

“Let's find out,” Cain said.

“Okay,” Clint said, “but first I want to let their horses go free.”

Cain nodded.

Clint went to where the horses were picketed and released them all. They milled about, but Clint knew that sooner or later they'd go in search of some water.

“Okay,” Clint said. “Let's go.”

Cain set off on foot with Clint right behind him. The tracks just seemed to be taking them toward a solid wall, but before long it became obvious.

“See that?” Cain asked.

“Looks like a fissure.”

Cain looked at Clint.

“There's a way out here,” the half-breed said. “The box canyon is not such a box.”

They continued on, finally coming to the opening.

“Wide enough for horses,” Cain said, looking in.

“Then we need our mounts,” Clint said.

They had to walk out of the canyon, get their horses, and come back in. To do that they had to pass the bodies twice. Cain finally asked the question.

“Do we want to bury these men?”

“No,” Clint said. “I found enough money in their pockets to tell me they were hired to kill me. Let the buzzards have them.”

Cain shrugged. It didn't matter to him.

They rode their horses to the fissure, then dismounted.

“We'll walk them through,” Cain suggested.

“No argument from me.”

The opening went all the way to the top, so there was some light as they went along. Cain stopped and pointed to the wall. There was a splotch of red.

“Blood,” he said. “It looks like you got your wish.”

“Good boy,” Clint said, thinking of Eclipse talking bite out of one of the men. He only hoped they didn't punish the horse for it.

As they continued to walk their mounts, the fissure narrowed, widened, twisted, and turned, but eventually they came out the other side.

“Where are we?” Clint asked.

“Let's ride a bit and I will get my bearings,” Cain said.

They mounted up and Cain continued to follow the tracks.

“All right,” he said, “I have it now. These tracks are heading for Hooper.”

“How big a town?”

“Not big,” Cain said. “No telegraph.”

“Law?”

“A sheriff.”

“Any good?”

“I do not know him.”

“Been there?”

“Once or twice.”

“What kind of town?”

Cain thought a moment, then said, “Sleepy.”

“Not wide open?”

“No.”

“Then why are they going there?”

“We do know one thing,” Cain said.

“What?”

“Even if they thought you might not be killed in that canyon,” Cain said, “they would not expect you to find the back way out through that fissure.”

“So they're not leading me to Hooper deliberately.”

“No.”

“They might be there when we get there,” Clint said.

“They might.”

“How far behind are we?”

Cain studied the ground.

“I would say they passed this way this morning,” Cain said. “They are about six hours ahead of us.”

Clint scowled.

“They could have been there and gone by now,” he said.

“They must have had plans for the men in the canyon to contact them, let them know you were dead.”

“They'd need a telegraph for that.”

“After they killed you, the men could have ridden back to Dover to use the telegraph.”

“Yes,” Clint said, “but where would they send it to?”

“After Dover,” Cain said, “is Kerrville.”

“They would have a telegraph.”

“Yes, they would.”

“All right,” Clint said, “let's keep to the tracks and see where they take us.”

The trail led to Hooper.

“Right into town,” Cain said.

“And leading Eclipse behind them,” Clint said. “Nobody can say they didn't notice them this time.”

It was dusk when they rode in. They'd have to stay the night, get an easy start in the morning. Neither of them believed there was any chance that Dunn and Sands—and Eclipse—were still in town. They confirmed this with the old gent who ran the livery.

“Yeah, they rode in leading that beautiful Arabian,” he said. “I offered a good price to buy him, but they said they had plans for him. Plans.” He almost spit. “Them two wouldn't know what to do with good horseflesh.”

“Had one of them been bitten?” Clint asked.

The man closed one eye and regarded Clint quizzically.

“How did you know that?” Then he asked, “Say, is that your horse?”

“It is.”

“I knew them fellers stole it.”

“How long did they stay?”

“Not long,” he said. “Didn't even unsaddle their mounts. Just asked me to feed the three and they came back for them in, oh, 'bout an hour. Then they was off again.”

“Was he all right?” Clint asked.

“He was in fine fettle,” the man said. “Good-lookin' animal, that one. I watered and fed the three. He waren't no trouble a'tall.”

“You know which way they headed?” Cain asked.

“Didn't see,” the man said, “but from what I heard, I'd say they went toward Kerrville.”

“Much obliged,” Clint said. “We'll be leaving early in the morning to keep tracking them.”

“Say, this steeldust is kinda nice,” the man said. “You wanna sell 'im?”

“He's not mine to sell,” Clint said. “I'm just using him until I get my horse back.”

“Been trackin' them long?”

“Not long. But I'll track them as long as I have to, to get him back,” Clint said.

“See?” the man said. “Now that's the way a fella is supposed ta feel about his horse.”

 • • • 

They left the livery and went to the town's one hotel. The clerk didn't look happy about giving a room to a half-breed, but he didn't comment. Clint felt he was intimidated by Cain's size, and would not have dared refuse him.

They went to their rooms and dumped their gear, then met back in the lobby again.

“Sheriff's office?” Cain asked.

“Steak first,” Clint said.

“Suits me,” the big man said.

“Where can we get a decent steak?” Clint asked the young desk clerk.

“San Antone, Waco, Fort Worth,” the man said. “If you mean in this town, though, the best one you're gonna find will be across the street and up a ways. Bob's Café. He'll likely burn it, but it'll be edible.”

“Well,” Clint said, “I guess I'm hungry enough to eat it well done.”

They left the hotel and walked to the café.

“Burnt?” Cain asked, making a face.

“We'll ask the cook not to burn it so much,” Clint said, “see what that gets us.”

It didn't matter. Both of their steaks came well done. Almost burnt. But the potatoes and onions were good.

“Anything else, sir?” the waiter asked when they were finished.

“Yes,” Clint said, “who's your sheriff?”

“His name's Bunyon, sir.”

“Bunyon?” Cain repeated.

“Yes, sir.”

“What's he like?” Clint asked.

The waiter, an older man in his sixties, shrugged and said, “He's all right.”

“How long has he been sheriff?”

“Got elected last year,” the man said, then added, “I mean, reelected, He's been sheriff a few years.”

“Okay, thanks.” Clint paid the bill.

“Do you want to bother talking to the sheriff?” Cain asked. “We already know they were here and gone.”

“I guess not,” Clint said. “I think I've met enough sheriffs lately.”

 • • • 

Clint and Cain walked from the hotel and stopped in front of the café. They looked over the street, which was quiet. Or sleepy, as Cain had said.

“Do you feel like we're being watched?” he asked Cain, still looking around. Up and down the street. Rooftops. Windows. Doorways.

“No.”

“Good,” Clint said. “Neither do I.”

“They left six men behind and probably expected you to be alone,” Cain said. “They probably think you're dead.”

“Then why keep Eclipse?”

“To hedge their bet,” Cain said, “just in case.”

“I suppose,” Clint said. “Do you want to get a drink?”

“Yes.”

Clint looked up and down the street.

“One hotel, one café, one saloon.”

“Like I said,” Cain replied, “a sleepy little town.”

“Yeah,” Clint said. “Come on, we'll have one drink. I want to get an early start tomorrow. I want this to end. And I want my goddamn horse back.”